by Jessa Slade
The thought of his handling her unconscious body . . . She wanted to slam him for that. But her hands were too clean to get dirty now. Plus, she was returning the favor for him not killing her while he had the chance.
Up on deck, under the high sun, the city was a hazy miniature on the horizon, with no other boats in view. The heat sank into her skin as she settled onto the cushions near the prow. The white vinyl burned the backs of her thighs, but she ignored it. Let the demon earn its keep.
Jonah’s steps thudded behind her. “The teshuva’s strength won’t last all the way to shore, if you were thinking of swimming. And in case you forgot, it can’t help you breathe underwater.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” she said testily. “I’ll add that to the list of things I can’t do.”
Stubbornly, she lounged on the deck cushions, letting the sun soak her skin.
Jonah stomped around somewhere in the middle of the boat, but she refused to look back. He’d made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her, but he’d stranded her out here. Let him deal with her buck-naked ass.
She startled when a long-sleeved oxford sailed over her head and landed in her lap. “I can’t get skin cancer anymore,” she snapped.
“You can still get arrested for indecent exposure.”
“By whom? You nixed the blow job, so what do you care?”
Between one blink and the next, he was looming over her, blocking the sun, his face dark as any cloud. “You are not going to provoke me.”
“Looks like I already have.” Her gaze drifted deliberately down to where his worn-thin cargo shorts gave him away.
He didn’t try to shield himself. “You’ve already demonstrated your power. And how it can destroy.”
Hurt flared like a struck match, still in the book and threatening to inflame the rest. “You still have all your parts after our night together. All the parts you had before it, anyway.” Then she winced and rubbed her fingertips over her lips. “You wanted to cast me off. At least I’m giving you good reasons now.”
He sank to his knees in front of her. “It’s not about what I want, Nim. It’s about what’s the right thing to do.”
When he was this close, the heat of him rivaled the August sun, and the scent of aroused male was spiked with the cool water and sharp diesel. Her wayward emotions tipped overboard, leaving only her desire for him. She trailed her fingers across her thighs where the reven curled. “We’re possessed by demons. Maybe it’s too late to worry about the right thing to do.”
His gaze traced the path her hands had led. “I thought you said we had a chance to make up for our mistakes.”
“Not till after we make them,” she whispered. “I used to do the wrong thing for the wrong reasons. Now I’m doing the wrong thing for the right reasons. That’s progress, don’t you think?”
He leaned forward. Because she was a lure, after all. Made for sin. Made for him.
She met him halfway, maybe a little more than halfway, and tilted her head to take his kiss. Sun warmed, sweat tinged. A hint of anguish that gave her hope. Maybe he didn’t want to cast her off. Not that he wouldn’t still do it, of course. The downside of the moral man. But in the meantime . . .
The kiss went on and on until she gasped. She might not have made it to shore on that breath, but she would’ve been close. Not that she wanted to get away now.
She curled her fingers against his chest where vicious red slashes were smoothing into white scars. “They really got you good.”
“That was me. After I made you comfortable below, I didn’t want to lie beside you with the ferales’ stink still on me. So I cut my shirt off beneath the bandages to wash. Not easy without two hands.”
“And I was passed out, useless.” She pressed her lips gently to the wounds, as if her touch could speed the demon’s healing. As if the wounds hadn’t been her fault.
“You’re here now.” His voice roughened. “The demon removes the scar, but not the pain. Only you do that.”
Her fingers tripped up his abs, and his muscles tightened. “Mostly I seem to have made it worse.” She pulled herself onto her knees to wrap her hands behind his neck and kiss his throat. “But now’s my chance to atone.”
She worked her way down his chest again, skimming her fingers over the still, black lines of the reven on his back, until she reached his shorts. The snap sprang open under pressure from within. She smiled up at him as his ready erection surged into her hand.
“We should go down,” he said huskily.
“I already am.” She took him in her mouth.
He jerked so hard, she thought he might come right then. But he steadied himself, his bound hand centered on her skull.
“You don’t have to—” He broke off with a groan when she cupped his sack and gave a tug. His fingers tightened in her hair.
The gentlest suction brought him a step closer. A swirl of tongue, and he kicked out of his shorts and put his foot up on the cushion next to her thigh. The conquering-hero pose. She worked the length of him, the fingers of her free hand splayed through the line of hair low on his belly, and when she hummed, he shuddered, not just conquering, but conquered. She snaked her arm up around his leg, dancing her fingers along his inner thigh.
His cock surged in her mouth, and then he was kneeling on the cushion, nudging her back. He spread her thighs with his knee. The August sun heated her—as if she needed it—but not as much as his mouth. That she needed, his lips and tongue exploring every nerve, wayward locks of his hair tickling her waxed pubis. Who needed hands?
Which didn’t stop her from clutching his head, holding him fast, making sure he touched her there, and there—ah—and there.
He whispered something against her flesh, unheard words, hot and wet, that her body knew and tightened around, as if holding them. Another slow rasp of his tongue and another, and then she was coming undone, shivering apart under his touch.
Melted into the cushion, she struggled to help as he tugged her to the edge of the seat and positioned himself between her thighs. His erection slipped into her.
She watched as he tipped his head back and stroked himself in her passage. She drew her legs up so the only point of contact was that wicked thrust, the wet burn of friction. The tremors built again, and she panted his name.
He straightened to look down at her, his eyes as hot blue as the summer sky behind him.
With the merest flex of muscle, he snapped the bandage around his chest. The gauze unraveled in a loose spiral around his hips before he tore it away.
“Your arm—” she started.
“While I can hold you, I will.” He raised her legs to his flanks, and she locked her heels behind him, drawing him deep. “Ah, Nim.”
He reached down between them to stroke the throbbing flesh of her swollen clitoris.
“Again,” she moaned.
With each teasing flick of his fingers, she wound tighter around him, hoping she wasn’t hurting him, knowing he wouldn’t stop her. Until one more touch tossed her over, and she went ecstatically, in a violent contraction that jackknifed her upward into his arms, just as his own release caught him.
He pumped his body against her a last time, one arm holding her shoulders, his fingers tight on her ass. His heaving breath rocked her against him for a long moment before he lowered her to the cushion and collapsed beside her.
She fitted herself between the hard curve of the hull and his even harder bulk. “Thank God we’re immortal.”
His breathing broke on what she thought was a laugh.
Her thundering pulse slowed and matched itself to his. Pillowed on his shoulder, she traced a fingertip over the all-but-invisible scars on his chest while he stroked her hair. “Am I forgiven?”
His hand stilled on her head, and abruptly she wished she hadn’t asked.
“Because I can do it again,” she said quickly.
He wrapped one of her dreads around his finger and gave it a tug. “What? Get into trouble again?” She huffed i
nto his chest, and he resumed his petting. “I think I’m done passing judgment.”
She wished he’d waited until after he’d forgiven her. “If not you, then who?”
“Someone who makes fewer mistakes.”
“I thought you’d say God.”
“We’re here, aren’t we? Possessed by demons. Somebody didn’t get that right.”
“Ooh, heresy.” She thought for a moment. “I like it.”
“You would.” His hand stilled again. “I judged you more harshly than any heathen I’d hoped to convert in Africa.”
“It’s probably the hair. Maybe I’m more heathen than them.”
“Quite likely. But I like your hair.”
She laughed, but had to close her eyes against the ridiculous surge of pleasure.
“More to the point,” he said, “I think, back then, the concept of converting sinners to save my own soul was somewhat academic. But my fear was no excuse for the way I’ve treated you. I was braver in the jungle.” He sighed. “Carine would have had my head.”
“For sleeping with me, definitely.”
He didn’t laugh. “Last winter, when Sera came to Archer, I realized Carine had been dead for as many years as we’d been together.”
Tentatively, Nim offered, “Maybe she’d think it was time for you to move on.”
“She said that the first time someone mistook me for her son. And then her grandson. And then, before her death, when she began to slip—or maybe she was just tired of the lie—and called me her husband again, she said I should move on.”
“But you didn’t. That would have been the sacrilege to you.”
He propped himself up on his elbow to look down at her. “And now I find myself reveling in sacrilege. Hungry?”
She blinked at him. “Change the subject much?”
He rolled off the bench and stood. “Those days were long ago, longer with every day that passes. I’m here now, with you. And I’m hungry.”
From the tiny galley, he produced tins of tuna fish, a package of crackers, and a can of pineapple rings. She carried the little feast to the deck and pulled on the oxford he’d thrown at her earlier. She rolled up the sleeves while she watched him deftly mix mayo and relish into the tuna, wedging the bowl between his stump and his hip, letting surface tension hold the crackers in place while he spread the salad.
She accepted the mini sandwich and leaned back on the cushions to stretch in the sunshine. “What a glorious day.”
His eyes glinted. “Quite.”
The heat in his gaze penetrated deeper than any UV, warming her from the inside, microwave style. She decided she liked it, so she stretched her bare legs toward him. “How nice you had a boat to help us escape.”
“We discovered our last Bookkeeper—a league posting for a man equal parts librarian, historian, and researcher—was embezzling. One of the few items we recovered was the Shades of Gray.”
“What happened to the Bookkeeper?”
“He retired.” This time, the glitter in his eyes was decidedly toward the cold end of the spectrum. “With Corvus’s help, he devised the chemical formula for the desolator numinis, what became solvo. Also with Corvus’s help, he ultimately lost his soul. Now he’s living—if you can call it that—down south with Nanette’s haints.”
Nim thought about it a moment. “The shades of gray he dabbled in were all rather black, weren’t they?”
“Liam would’ve sold her off, to recoup what money he could, but the market tanked. And then I lost my arm.”
She breathed out a sardonic “ah.” “Right. Forget about your hand. Look at the pretty boat.”
Jonah’s lips quirked. “The excuse was the league needed someone to ferry haints out of the city. Spending those hours with the soulless corpses reminded me there are worse fates than mutilation and death.”
“That’s it. Look at the bright side.” She tipped her head to the side, studying him. “And I’m guessing you liked being alone.”
Silent a moment, he speared a ring of pineapple on his fork. “After Carine died, I worked a steamship up and down the western coast to earn passage home. The sailors asked about as many questions as the haints, and only slightly fewer than the league, which picked me up within a day of my feet hitting dry land.”
“So that was how it started.”
“And ended.” He ate the pineapple, then stabbed another ring and handed it to her. “All that time in the jungle, then on the water, with tenebrae few and far between, kept me from being overwhelmed with the teshuva’s energy early in my possession. The league set me on my new course. Liam sent me back to the water after I lost my weapon hand, with the teshuva misaligned.”
She took a bite out of the pineapple. “And then I made it worse.”
He reached across the space between them and wrapped his fingers behind her neck, his gaze fierce. “Remember when I said I wanted you? When I was alone, I prayed for you—the notion of you—even though I don’t believe anymore. I dreamed of you, even when I was afraid to sleep.”
She stared at him, the sweet, sharp tang of the fruit stinging in her throat. Then she kissed him.
Before she could do more, he pulled back. From the lunch tray, he lifted the Swiss Army knife he’d used to open the tins. He poked through the tools and extracted the snips.
He handed her the knife and laid his hand in her lap. “Cut off the ring.”
She’d taken jewelry from men before—once or twice when they hadn’t even offered it—but watching his thumb worry a circle over the worn gold, the burn in her throat turned to acid. “Why?”
He met her gaze, the eyes so intense she thought his demon was rising, but the blue never phased to violet. “I didn’t decide against throwing you overboard just because you’d sleep with me. If we’re together, truly, we should do it right.”
“Right” as in “good”? She bit her lip. “Oh.” And what happened when the lust faded and he remembered, beyond the last shadow of a doubt, that she wasn’t good at all?
“I’d cut it off myself, but . . .” He scuffed the stump of his missing hand against his thigh.
She lifted his hand. “Your fingers are still swollen from the break. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Nim, I want you to—”
She swept the remains of their meal aside and kissed him again.
This, at least, she knew he wanted.
This, at least, she could give him.
They made love as if they had all the time in the world and no place else to be. Which was pretty much a lie, but the kind that didn’t hurt anyone. The sun hovered on the points of distant skyscrapers for the longest time. She made Jonah dance, a naked waltz in the open bow. He pulled her into his arms, and finally, the sun, red as a malice eye, slid behind the city, just as he released himself into her one more time.
She fell back panting. When a cool breeze took the edge from their passion, he pulled the wrinkled oxford over them. “Good thing the teshuva heal us quickly, or you’d be sunburned in interesting places.”
She touched his cheek. “Speaking of quickly, we have to go back.”
“I know. We have to get your anklet.”
“And check on Mobi. He’ll have digested his rat by now and wonder where I am.”
He kissed her temple. “Save the city from djinni evil. Cuddle snake. Whichever.”
“I have a plan for getting the anklet.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Were you planning to tell me about this plan?”
“I’m telling you now,” she pointed out. “I thought there should be some mystery. I am a lure, after all.”
His other eyebrow rose. “You don’t have to be a mystery to me.”
It was one thing to be naked and open, but did she want him looking deeper than that? “Right.” She eased away from him, avoiding his hand where the gold band gleamed like an unwavering eye.
He pushed up onto his elbow. “We’re in this together, remember? Until we get it right, you said. Already we have a
better grasp on how your luring works. And how to stop it.”
A chill wormed under her skin. “Is that why you fuck me? Easier to get a grasp?”
“Nim.” He reached for her, but she dodged him.
“Well, that is teamwork. I turn you on. You turn me off.”
He drew back. Just as she’d intended. “What are you trying so hard to avoid?”
“Guys who don’t listen when I say don’t touch.” Inside, she cringed. Could she blame the demon for the lies coming out her mouth?
Jonah shook his head. “I’m not the next-door neighbor who raped you, Nim, and I’m not the men who paid for you.”
“No, you’re worse. They just wanted flesh. Now you want all of me. Like the tenebrae.”
“They want your hurt and sadness. That’s how the lure draws them to you. I want to give you something else.”
Like what? The question churned in her throat.
When she didn’t speak, his face stilled, and she realized he wouldn’t tell her unless she asked, unless she met him halfway. But there was a reason she’d learned to stand on the stage, out of reach. That way, no one got hurt.
And for once, she wasn’t even thinking of herself.
CHAPTER 19
As Jonah throttled the boat up to speed, his gaze lingered on Nim, sprawled on the prow.
This far out, there was nothing to hit, so he let himself brood over the view in the lingering light. Her hand washed tank top clung to her breasts, and a spare pair of his shorts rode low on her hips. As if she felt the weight of his stare, she pointed her nose upward.
She was still upset.
She’d stomped away, as far as one could stomp on a small boat, without letting him speak. Don’t touch. Don’t speak. Now she didn’t even want him to look. As mad as she was, she had her teshuva under wraps. Along with the clothes she’d yanked on. He shook his head. He just didn’t understand her. Sometimes he angered her and she put clothes on; sometimes it went the other way.
He liked the other way more.
He would’ve thought she’d be amused that they’d been able to restrain her teshuva’s lure with such a simple and satisfying distraction. As he’d pointed out to her, “The teshuva might be repentant, but they are still creatures born of sin.”